


Grace

by Ladycat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode: s04e15 Outcast, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:49:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't all that difficult to guess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grace

It wasn't all that difficult to guess.

Teyla waited until after the verbal equivalent of sparring practice died down, scientists leaving in battered ones and twos, their egos bruised and bodies weary from exercise they never intended to have. Rodney was always more vicious when he was frustrated. More indiscriminate.

Once, she had tried to give him physical surcease, introducing him to what John had called a punching-bag. It had worked, in that the crazy tick of too many thoughts banging against his temple had eased, shoulders settling into a more natural position. 

But it hadn't given him the respite she'd wanted.

After watching Rodney dance his way through the labs, hands and feet as nimble as Teyla's were no longer, she'd come to understand that her efforts, while appreciated, were unnecessary.

"Ronon has returned to Cheyenne," she said. The lab was empty now, the steady sounds of machines wheezing and beeping not enough to cover the sound of her breathing. Rodney was only unobservant until he wasn't.

Rodney gave her a peevish look over his shoulder. "Enjoy the show?"

"Well, as you did not make anyone cry this time..." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I believe I would only give it a six. Zelenka was _chuckling_ as he left. That is far from your best, Rodney."

His grin was quicksilver, an abrupt shaft of sunlight after weeks of spring storms. So few people of Atlantis _grinned_ , and her three men least of all. Turning back to whatever arcane spell he wove with his computers, Rodney’s actions did not dismiss her so much as invite her to come closer, to peer over his shoulder and take the seat he kicked towards her, a surreptitious glance confirming that she had rested her by-now-considerable bulk.

Being fussed over had its advantages. Even if it made her want to bite—hard—at the same time.

"He won't be far behind, Rodney." He couldn't be. Ronon would track him through that accursedly populated planet if it became necessary, and John knew that best of all.

"Do you know I was glad I couldn't go, at first? I'm terrible at funerals. Well, I'm terrible at any place that involves a lot of people talking about things I don't care about, which is most places that aren't the SGC and even _then_ I wasn't—" He broke off, watching her carefully from the corner of his eye. "I was glad."

Not at all hard to guess. 

"Did you remain glad?" If her child was a boy, Teyla knew she already had significant advantage over other first-time mothers.

"I thought it was just dealing with those—those _kids."_ A smear of blue paint still curved over his cheekbones. "I thought I was mad at Zelenka for being such a coward when it came to a bunch of kids who are yes, all right, terrifying, but it's his job and he should've just—" Rodney sighed. His eyes were bright, too bright, under the clean white light of Atlantis. "Then I was mad at Sheppard. I was mad at him!"

"Do you know the most frustrating part of pregnancy?" Teyla asked him. "No, Rodney, I promised I would not talk of uncomfortable things with you, and this is not one of them." It would be, later, because Teyla was less and less interested in holding her tongue. To distract herself, she took his hand and cradled it in both of hers. Rodney had such big, powerful hands. "I find myself growing angry. The cause is frequently random and it is quite frustrating. But I am still angry."

"Well, yes, hormones are—um. Ow?"

Relaxing her grip, Teyla said, "I was angry at him as well. My presence would not have helped him, for all I would be more palatable than Ronon. I know this. And yet, I am still angry that I could not join him."

"He told you."

No, he hadn't. He'd hinted and talked around subjects like if he merely got close it was answer enough. Sometimes, it was. She said, "His ex-wife would be there."

"Actually, having you probably would've made him happy," Rodney said, sighing into his seat and finally, finally relaxing. "Then she probably wouldn't touch him and—"

"And he would not do his sudden and excellent impression of a piece of driftwood?"

Rodney actually laughed. It was unsteady, but still true _laughter_. "Yes. Yes, then he wouldn't do that."

"Is Ronon such a poor choice?" She had worried, despite being breathlessly relieved at Ronon's decision. Sending John off into the wilds without at least one of them to watch over him was never a wise decision. 

And yet: Teyla had spent nearly four years living with the people of Earth and no longer did she need John to explain everything to her.

"He's a better choice than I am, probably." Rodney met her gaze reluctantly, bending his fingers until they curled over hers. "First of all, Ronon is, um, beautiful so the ones that aren't horrified out of their blue-haired wigs will be admiring. Second, he's threatening enough to remind the ones who _are_ horrified that saying nasty things where either of them can hear is probably a bad thing. And third... "

So very easy to guess. It wasn't even Rodney's fault, this man who wore his thoughts and hopes and dreams before him like a shield, a standard announcing who he was before his voice was ever heard.

No, it was John. All John, who told secrets with each shadowed line upon his face, the scars he hid or dismissed, the cant of a body that meant _trust_ or _not_.

"Third?" she prompted.

Rodney's mouth was thin and white along the edges, hints of the anger that wouldn't dissipate until John returned, hale and whole and theirs again.

"Third," Rodney said, so cold it made her shiver, "if it was me there, I wouldn't care how _pained_ he looked, or how angry he'd be at me, afterward. I'd rip that asshole brother of his to shreds and then dance on his carcass."

Teyla nodded. Rodney had more information, clearly, but what Teyla knew was more than enough to corroborate. Family was always complicated and she had no doubt that this Dave bore wounds of his own. But she knew only John, and it was his hurts she concerned herself. "I believe that was his reasoning for me, as well. After all, does your culture not give pregnant women a ready excuse for...” she raised an eyebrow meaningfully, “eccentricities?"

Rodney laughed again, bringing her hands up to kiss her fingers, an unconscious gesture that made her flush. "Wanna go hang around in the gate-room with me?" he offered. "You can help me calibrate something that everyone knows doesn't need to be calibrated."

She grinned at him, because she, too, smiled less and less, and carefully navigated herself upright. "I do believe I would enjoy that very much," she said. Rodney offered her his arm—a gesture she had seen in movies and had to have been taught to him by John, who did so with unconscious grace when they were alone—and if her eyes prickled with the love she had for each of these three men, and their love for each other, there was no one else to see.


End file.
